Half-Blood, New Blood -SSHG-
by bitchenware
Summary: When Hermione experiments where she ought not, her Potions Master becomes a bigger part of her life than she had ever anticipated.


**A/N:** Oh, would you look at that, I got bitten by the writing bug again having abandoned a plethora of fics in the past. I don't have much plan for this, the plot bunny just smothered me in my sleep last night. I have high hopes though! This is a Snanger/Snamione fic, and entails what you would expect from such a pairing. If you're not a fan, please do both of us a favour and don't read on.

Having said that, enjoy!

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The tattered Potions textbook thudded on the desk in the dingy classroom. Snape's eyes immediately sprang to its familiar form.

"I know he's you," said the bushy-haired intruder, "I recognised his- your handwriting straight away." Hermione brought her gaze up to meet the Potions Master.

"Where did you find this?" he scowled, "It was hidden, it was safe. Where the hell did you get this book, Miss Granger?" At this, she shuffled back from him a little, apprehensively.

"Harry had it. You ought to be more careful with it. He started experimenting with all those spells written in the margins yesterday. Luckily for all of us he's not a quick reader, nor is he very observant and he's not even reached the index yet. There are some dark pieces of craft in there – though, I suppose you know that, having written them." Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes dropping to a particularly interesting patch on the dungeon floor to focus on.

"They are my work, yes, but they were private material."

"Well, they're not anymore," she replied with a touch of bitterness and turned around to leave "I don't know your game, Professor, but I know you're the Half-Blood Prince. It doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. I hope Lord Voldemort gets plenty of satisfaction from your-" in an instant Snape was nose to nose with her, pinning her against the wall of the classroom with his forearm across her chest, teeth gritted.

"You will not use that name in my presence. Do I make myself quite clear?" he breathed in a deep whisper, with breath that descended on Hermione's face heavy with the scent of tobacco. She gasped for air and nodded her head once as he let her go. "Now get out of my sight. Do not misunderstand me; I appreciate the book being returned to me. But what has been said in this room goes no further. I will not make threats because I trust you'll keep this between us."

And with that Hermione ran out of the dim, cold classroom as quickly as she could.

The next Potions lesson Hermione had was by all accounts strangely balanced. With Harry no longer in possession of the Half-Blood Prince's book – which had mysteriously disappeared from his bag during Thursday's Hufflepuff-Gryffindor quidditch semi-final – equilibrium and order were restored with Hermione at the top of the class once again and Slughorn with no grounds to give Harry preferential treatment. She actually got a sick sort of joy out of seeing her friends fail after using someone else's hard work to get ahead in the course, not that she would indulge anyone in that information.

The high didn't last for long, though; as she was cornered by Snape not three days after she'd returned the book, and manhandled into his office.

As soon as she found her footing, she heard wards click into place and immediately chills starting creeping down her spine.

"Which one?" the professor said, practically spitting at her.

"What do you mean, 'which one'?" her eyes wandered the room, settling anywhere but on him.

"You played around with one of my spells, I could smell it on you when you came to give me the book and I need to know." There was an odd urgency in his voice, almost like a panic.

"I- I don't know... There was more than one." Hermione stuttered. At this, he let her go and thudded into his office chair and hid his head in his hands.

"Stupid, stupid, ignorant, naive girl." he muttered.

"Professor, what's happened?" she said barely above a whisper, with a lump forming in her throat. His head snapped up and Snape glared right at her though she thought she saw pity behind his eyes.

"You've cursed yourself is what, you foolish child!"

"I've... no, that can't be right - I don't feel any different. I don't understand, sir." She couldn't stop her hands from shaking, knowing and yet not knowing at all what she'd inflicted on herself by being selfish and curious and incorrigible.

Saying nothing at all, Snape pulled a desk drawer open and picked out an awfully sharp looking letter opener. Focusing intensely on the implement in his hand he drew it sharply across his palm. Hermione suddenly shrieked in pain and in an instant she understood. Gingerly, she turned her hand over to see her left palm and observed a neat, straight cut right across it.

"I've bonded us?" she offered. Snape simply nodded and reached for the small bottle of Dittany he kept in his robes, first applying some to his hand and then watching with Hermione as her mirror wound scabbed over, scarred and disappeared in just a few seconds.

"Use your imagination, Miss Granger." he sneered.

"How do I undo it? It's my fault, how do I fix this?" Hermione's voice became sure and solid, trying to mask her fear that it was unfixable.

"A good question, Miss Granger. One that I would have been wise to ask myself at sixteen years old," he picked up the book from its spot on a pile of paperwork in the corner of the room and started flicking through the pages, "however, I never quite got that far. It may not surprise you to learn that I was not a favourite in my own time at Hogwarts. This spell was intended for those others who were cruel to me, that they would feel the pain they inflicted on me after they blindly tried out the first incantation they found in my notes. I stopped seeing the merit in it after-" he stopped at a page roughly two-thirds of the way through and glanced up at her as if to check she was listening, "after my initiation into the Death Eaters' ranks."

"So what you're telling me, Professor, is that you don't have a counter-curse."

"Not at this moment in time, no, Miss Granger." and he tossed the open book onto the desk, beckoning her with his left hand, which she now realised was littered with scars.

 _'ego enim dabo ei mandatum sanguinis mei'_

Keeping her distance from the professor, she stepped forward and read the circled and underlined phrase in the margin of a recipe for the Draught of Living Death. A shiver ran down her spine and she nodded in the smallest of motions.

"Yes, I recognise it." The professor's fist became so tight that his knuckles turned white.

"It was an experiment. The only reason I kept it in this godforsaken book was that I thought one day it might help to win a war, no matter what side I was on," he said as he leant on the desk and brought his hands up to hide his face again in despair.

"I suppose we should speak to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione timidly suggested.

"And I suppose _not_ , Miss Granger," he snapped "that old coot has more than enough on me, for the sake of self-preservation I think it will be better to keep the headmaster uninvolved."

A pregnant silence followed and lasted a few minutes, both brains in the room working on overdrive.

"Leave," said the Potions Master abruptly "clearly I'm going to need to fathom some kind of counter-curse or strategy, however temporary. I refuse to do it with your bloody hair in my peripheral vision."

Hermione bowed her head self-consciously and made for the door, stopping and turning her head back just as she took the handle.

"I'm sorry for this inconvenience, sir," she said just loud enough for him to hear "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Inconvenience doesn't begin to cover it, Miss Granger." he said from behind a curtain of hair with his back to her "Now, get out."

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 **A/N: ** Thanks for the read, and don't forget to favourite, follow and leave a review! I've got the writing bug at the moment so I'll try to write as much as can make for weekly updates. Wish me luck!


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